


A Comedy of Errors (and Emails)

by Paigers



Category: Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bram POV, M/M, Simon is oblivious to the point of being hurtful, but Bram's behavior could be better too, full disclosure: there will be angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-11-21 18:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11363529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paigers/pseuds/Paigers
Summary: AU (Alternate Universe).Just before Garrett's Halloween party, Bram and Simon end up becoming partners for a Shakespeare project in English. It's mostly fine, if nerve-wracking, but then Bram sort of accidentally tells Simon that he likes Leah. Chaos ensues.(Just go with it. I shalt not steer thee wrong.)





	1. In Which There is a Misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my pre-readers, Val and Julie, for putting up with my excessive adverb usage and calming my anxieties.
> 
> And if you recognized the italic, bolded parts, it's because they're quoted directly from the Kindle version of _Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda_.

It was funny how someone could say something to you without even thinking, and you could have a hard time forgetting it.

“Are you gonna come to the party?” Garrett had asked Bram after school, two weeks into October.

“Probably not,” Bram had said.

Garrett had rolled his eyes. “You never do anything.”

He hadn’t meant it in a mean way, not really. Bram did plenty of things. It was just light commentary on his friend’s lack of willingness to go to his Halloween party. Bram had known that Garrett would be disappointed, especially because Leah was apparently going to be there, which he was nervous about.

_You never do anything._

But Simon was also going to be there, too, apparently.

So, Bram thought he was better off sitting this one out, anyway.

**

Bram was still thinking about this conversation as he got to first period one morning a few days later, a little more than a week before Halloween.

“Are you guys ready for this?” Mr. Wise asked the class after the bell rang, as he began passing out mustard-yellow pieces of paper (licking his finger every time, gross).

Oh. Right. The _Twelfth Night_ project. He had warned them that they were going to go over the requirements of that today. All Bram knew about it was that it was supposed to take most of the rest of this semester, and that it would end up being like a quarter of their grade. Just great.

“I really do think you will all like this play,” Mr. Wise continued. “I think – especially for your generation—it will be very interesting. It has some interesting thoughts on gender roles, and even arguably sexual identity.”

A few giggles in the back. Come on, grow up.

“Shakespeare truly was ahead of his time,” Mr. Wise said, ignoring the giggles.

Bram thought that he was probably overselling it, but fine. There were certainly more boring themes.

Eve passed him the yellow papers that Mr. Wise had given to their row. He took one, then passed them along to Abby Suso.

On the paper was a project outline and a rubric.  One word caught Bram’s eyes right away: partners.

Great. Bram hated group and partner projects. You had to depend on someone else for your own grade. Or do way too much work yourself.

Mr. Wise droned on about the requirements for a few minutes: essays, literary analysis, presentation, blah blah blah.

Finally, as he seemed to be losing his train of thought, Abby stuck her hand up. “Do we get to pick our partners?” she asked when he called on her.

“Ah,” Mr. Wise said, smirking. “The golden question. Hmm…I can actually feel the anticipation in the room. Will it be yes or no?”

Oh, come on. Just tell them.

“Yes,” he continued. “You can pick your partners.”

“Yes!” a few people in the back whispered.

“But,” Mr. Wise said again. “It _cannot_ be one of the people you worked on the _Scarlet Letter_ assignment with.”

A few groans. Their first two weeks of school had been dedicated to _that_ project. This class was heinous.

Bram had worked with Garrett and Nick Eisner. He looked around, surveying his options.

“Keep in mind, you’re going to have to be spending a lot of time in class – and possibly out – working with this person. You have until Friday to tell me who your partner will be. Choose wisely.”

Mr. Wise smiled at them. He probably thought it was reassuring. “I really do think you guys might like this one. There are so many misunderstandings, and it’s very silly at times, though there is some melodrama. But I hope, at least, you’ll have fun.”

**

At lunch, their table was ablaze with complaints about the project.

“Why didn’t he tell us this when we did the _Scarlet Letter_ thing?” Leah asked the table. “This one’s more important. We might have picked our partners differently then.”

“Hey,” Anna, who was her partner for this new project, said.

“Oh, you know what I mean,” Leah said. “ _We’ll_ be fine. You’re a great partner. But it’s still seems unfair that we didn’t get warning. Some people are probably gonna be stuck.”

“Yeah,” Simon said. “I haven’t figured out who I’m gonna ask. _Someone_ chose Abby instead of me.” He mock-glared at Nick, who shrugged exaggeratedly.

“I’m just way cuter,” Abby said. Nick looked down and flushed a bit.

Simon didn’t have a partner yet, either.

_You never do anything._

_You never do anything._

_You never do anything._

Bram didn’t know what made him to it. But all of the sudden, he found himself speaking.

“I, uh,” he said, then cleared his throat. Their heads all turned to him. “I…don’t have a partner yet, either, Simon, if, uh, if you want to…”

He wasn’t sure he had ever said Simon’s name out loud to his face, before. He felt himself growing red, and wished he had just kept his mouth shut. Why had he done that?

“Oh,” Simon said, eyes widening a bit. He seemed shocked that Bram had spoken up, which Bram guessed that he couldn’t blame him for. “Yeah, okay. That would be great, Bram. You want to?”

“Yeah,” Bram said. “Yeah…let’s do it.”

What had he just done?

**

To the surprise of probably no one ever, the first class time Bram and Simon spent talking about the project – Mr. Wise had designated the last ten minutes of class on Friday – was a little awkward.

“I’m almost finished with Act I,” Simon said. “That Shakespearean language is just…ugh, sometimes, you know? I basically have to have No Fear Shakespeare open on my browser the whole time.”

“Oh, okay,” Bram said. He had finished the play the night before. It wasn’t that long, though he did not have play rehearsal every day after school like he knew Simon did.

“I already read the SparkNotes summary, though,” Simon said after a pause (always a pause), smiling an embarrassed smile that made Bram feel all shaky inside. “I’m still gonna read the whole play, obviously. It just…helps.”

“Yeah,” Bram said, though he had not used SparkNotes. (He had opened No Fear Shakespeare a few times, admittedly.)

“This play is weird, right?” Simon said, clearly trying to figure out a way to break up the awkwardness. “Like, what the hell? I know it’s supposed to be all exaggerated and unrealistic, but come the fuck on. Viola gets shipwrecked, and she falls in love with the Duke. But the Duke loves Olivia. But then Olivia falls for Viola, because she disguises herself as her twin brother? It’s batshit, right? I’m not alone here?”

Bram considered his response carefully.

“You’re -- you’re not alone,” said Bram, beyond charmed. “It’s more than kind of unrealistic. All the -- the mistaken identity stuff.”

This was probably the most he had ever said to Simon at once.

“Seriously,” Simon said. “It’s ridiculous. And, like, Olivia might be a lesbian. Or bi.”

Bram laughed, probably too loudly, but Simon did not seem to notice. He actually looked a little pleased with himself.

“You’re probably right,” Bram said. He felt his cheeks get hot, but only a bit.

Here he was, talking to Simon Spier about a fictional character possibly being queer, and it…could be going worse. The thing was that, as nervous as Simon had always made Bram, he was so naturally charismatic that this was not as hard as he thought it might be.

“So, we have to pick a theme for our presentation,” Simon said.

“Yeah,” Bram said. “There’re…there’re the big ones like gender and ambition. Or we could pick a specific character to talk about. Or…”

And he couldn’t believe it, but for the next few minutes he had a perfectly normal discussion with Simon. It wasn’t lively or fun or anything like that, but information was conveyed both ways, and they came up with a tentative plan for their project.  Bram even made a (tiny) joke about doing a presentation about how implausible the play’s plot was, and Simon had chuckled politely.

He’d made him laugh. Even if politely.

To most people, this probably wouldn’t be such a big deal. But to Bram, this felt downright terrifying.

He felt brave. He wondered what made him feel this way, and he thought of Jacques. Emailing Jacques recently had made him feel like a different person. Maybe that had something to do with it.

But it all went to hell just after the bell rang.

“Hey, you’re gonna be at Garrett’s party next week, right?” Simon asked him as they were gathering up their books.

And Bram didn’t know what happened next happened, either. He had fully planned to spend next Friday eating Reese’s on his couch, flipping through the channels for the best scary movie on.

It’s not like Simon was even asking for any reason but to make conversation. It’s not like he was especially concerned about the answer. But for some reason, him phrasing it like that, like he expected Bram to say yes, made Bram lose his damn mind.

“Yeah,” he told Simon. “I’ll be there.”

 **

He didn’t really know why he lied to Jacques on the morning of Halloween. He definitely didn’t plan it.

The thing was, two days before, Bram had sent him a benign email saying that he wasn’t dressing up for Halloween (that was true enough; he was planning to wear an asshole shirt from Walmart that said “THIS IS A COSTUME,” and he couldn’t exactly explain that to Jacques). But he had immediately regretted sending it, as it implicitly invited Jacques to question him further, which he did, last night.

**_Don’t you realize you’re throwing away the perfect opportunity to be someone else for an evening?_ **

Yes, Bram did realize that. But he was going to have his work cut out for him just trying to be himself at the party, never mind anybody else.

He could have easily just responded with the comment about Blue being his secret identity and the story about the Green Lantern costume, and that would have been fine. He and Jacques did not have the type of relationship that would cause Jacques to interrogate him about his plans for the night.

So, no, he really couldn’t explain why he lied. But somehow, he found himself typing, **_…because I’m not going out. My mom has some sort of work party, so I’m stuck at home on chocolate duty…_**

Those had been his original plans. But they weren’t anymore, so why did he bother?

It had something to do with protecting himself, he knew. It often did with him.

Okay. Okay. Maybe he could explain. Kind of. He just really did not want Jacques to know who he was, because, what would happen then? Who would he email then? Whose advice would he ask when he finally decided to do that Coming Out Thing he had been contemplating for months? And who would he explain his hurt to if his parents’ reactions were not what he wanted them to be?

It just seemed like the safest thing to do to keep his pen-pal was to make sure that he didn’t know who he was. And if Jacques was at the party and saw Bram, then he would think that “Blue” couldn’t be Bram, because Blue was at home. And it’s not as though it was some huge lie. It didn’t have to be a lie at all, really. He had sent Jacques the email before school, and “Blue” could easily have changed his plans at some point in the day.

Lying lying lying lying.

And it also probably had something to do with Simon, too. It often did with him.

Simon was definitely going to be at the Halloween party.

And look, he didn’t actually think there was a very good chance that Simon Spier was Jacques. But he couldn’t ignore the highly unrealistic, but persistent, possibility. Simon was the kind of person who would probably be disappointed that someone wasn’t wearing a Halloween costume. And he had dated girls, like Jacques had. And sometimes he found himself reading Jacques’s emails and hearing Simon’s voice…

Ugh, look, he was working on it, okay?

**

He didn’t get to Garrett’s house until nearly 10. Garrett had been amused earlier in the week when he’d told him that he was going to the party after all, but hadn’t asked questions.

When he walked in, his eyes immediately found Simon. He was sitting against his wall, very close to Leah Burke, and he had his arm around her.

Bram knew that they had always been close friends, and had often wondered if there was more to it than that. He didn’t quite know what to make of this.

So, he took the beer that Garrett was handing him, and went to hang out with Marcus and Ryan from the soccer team in the kitchen.

They talked about their team’s chances for the upcoming season and who would make varsity. It was fine and all, but Bram couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing here, exactly. Every time someone came up to them, they would make a sarcastic comment about his lack of a real costume, and the beer just wasn’t helping improve matters as much as he might have hoped.

And his eyes just kept getting drawn across the room to where Simon and Leah and that group was. He wished he could be over there. But he also didn’t. A couple times, he thought he might have made eye contact with Simon, but he was sure it was just his nerves and the beer.

After less than an hour there, Bram was considering just going home. But then he heard his name.

“Hey Greenfeld!” It was Garrett. “Get over here!”

Bram turned, and of course, Garrett was standing with Simon’s group. He probably wanted a wingman with Leah or something. He walked toward them. Martin Addison was sitting with them too, which struck Bram as a bit odd.

“Hey,” he said awkwardly to them as he approached.

A couple of them murmured “Hey” back.  But it was Simon (whose arm was still around Leah) who chose to give him a real greeting.

“It’s Bram!” he said loudly. “Bram Greenfield. I mean Greenfeld. My Bram Greenfeld. I mean, my partner Bram Greenfeld. For the Twelfth Night project thingy.”

Simon was blushing, and now so was Bram, probably. _My Bram Greenfeld._ Woah.

“He’s had _one_ beer,” Leah explained.

“Just one?” Bram asked, as though he thought this absurd. But really, he thought it was adorable.

“Hey, now,” Simon said, smiling at him. Bram smiled back.

“I was just saying to Leah,” Garrett interrupted whatever was going on there. “That you used to be into reading anime too.”

“You don’t read anime,” Leah said. “You watch it. You _read_ manga.”

“Oh,” Garrett said. Honestly, how was he supposed to be his wingman if Garrett was paying so little attention to whatever Leah was saying?

“I haven’t in a few years,” Bram said, his voice too quiet even to his own ears. He could feel Simon’s eyes on him.

He looked at Leah and noticed what she was wearing for the first time. “Oh, you’re what’s-her-name. From…from Fruits Basket?”

“Yeah,” Leah said, looking surprised. “Tohru.”

“Oh, right,” Bram said. “That’s so cool.”

“Where’s your costume?” Simon asked. A very small part of him wondered whether Simon had already asked him that last night, but he squashed it down.

“Oh...I hadn’t planned on coming, so…”

“Oh,” Simon said. “Okay.”

There was a couple seconds of awkward silence, and then Leah asked him his opinion about something about Fruits Basket.  They talked about this for a couple minutes, but it fizzled out.

“I think I’m taking off,” Bram said to Garrett.

“Okay, man,” Garrett said. “Thanks for actually showing up.” He winked at him. Bram rolled his eyes, waved at the rest of them, and left.

**

“So, the party on Friday was fun, right?” Simon asked him on Monday.

They were using the designated time that Mr. Wise was trying to give them a couple times a week to work on their project. They were supposed to be discussing their essay topics, though obviously no one really was.

“Yeah,” Bram said. “It was.”

“Right,” Simon said. “Okay, this is gonna sound extremely awkward, especially because I know we don’t really know each other…but there’s something I couldn’t help but notice.”

Oh no no no no no no no no no no no shit shit shit shit.

“Okay?”

“Just, like, it seemed like at the party you were kind of looking in our direction a lot. And I was wondering – I can’t even believe I’m even saying this to you -- “

Here it came.

“—but with that, and like, all the anime stuff, do you, like…like Leah?”

Wait.

Bram didn’t know what his face showed at that moment (blank shock?), but whatever it was must have made Simon want to clarify.

“It’s just, look, I’ve known Leah forever. And she…she’s awesome, you know? But she would never realize it if you were trying to flirt with her or whatever at the party. I could...help, or something? I don’t know.”

Wait.

“So…am I right? Sorry, this is so fucking awkward, but I mean, you were kind of staring and…”

He'd noticed.

 "Yeah,” Bram found himself saying. “Yeah, I guess you’re right…”

And to think, just two weeks ago he and Simon had been mocking the implausibility of _Twelfth Night._

His apologies to Shakespeare.

 

**To Be Continued**


	2. In Which Things Go a Little Differently

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bram digs himself deeper into a hole, but gets to spend a whole lot of time with Simon, so hey, there's that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks very much to Val and Julie for pre-reading. You might even say...being my Bram-pickers.
> 
> GET IT GET IT GET IT? LIKE BRIT-PICKERS, BUT NOT.
> 
> *taps mic* 
> 
> Is this thing on?

Simon thought that he liked Leah.

Well, he had told him that. But what was he supposed to have said?

_No, Simon, I kept staring at you guys because I have liked you since the day I met you. A lot. And I want to be able to talk to you or at least hang out with you so badly, but sometimes I just stare at you instead._

He shoved down the voice inside of his head that said that he could have simply said, _Nope, wasn’t staring, man, don’t know what you’re talking about._

He could have, but he had already established that coherence and logic in front of Simon was difficult on the best of days. And Simon asking him if he had a thing for Leah was not the best of days.

“I mean, like, playing matchmaker is definitely probably not my best skill,” Simon had said in that same conversation, after Bram had confirmed his suspicions. Simon had winced a bit as he’d said it, and Bram had wondered if there was a story there.

“That’s fine,” Bram had said. “I don’t need – I don’t want you to – I don't actually -- please don't --"

Please, don’t say anything. As if this could get more awkward.

“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” Simon said. “But maybe you should, if, you know, you want to. I could put in a good – “

“No,” Bram said. “Thanks, but I -- no.” He had to shut this down.

“Okay,” Simon said. “But you should tell her. Or ask her to do something with you. She’s my best friend, and she…she really is the best.”

Bram had just nodded. Why, oh why, had he just nodded?

At least he knew now that _Simon_ probably didn’t like Leah. There was that.

**

The best thing about this new situation that Bram found himself in was that Simon seemed to think that, now that he and Bram shared a secret, they were basically friends.

The worst thing about this new situation that Bram found himself in was that Simon seemed to think that, now that he and Bram shared a secret, they were basically friends.

There was a time -- oh, a whole week ago, even – when he would have given a lot to have some common ground like this to base a friendship with Simon on.

Now he just wished he had never asked him to be his project partner in the first place.

In the few days that had passed since the Leah conversation had taken place, Simon had begun saying hi to him in the hallways whenever he saw him. In other circumstances, this would have been wonderful, if nerve-wracking. But now. Now. Well.

And on Wednesday, Gender Bender Day, he had walked into first period and seemed to stare at Bram where he was on the couch in that uncomfortable cheerleading uniform, for just a moment. This had made Bram’s heart beat a little faster, until Simon had walked toward him and Nick and Garrett on the couch just before the beginning bell rang.

“Woah, you guys even got Greenfeld to do it?” Simon had laughed, as he sat down at one of the desks closest to the couch. Nick and Garrett had made sarcastic comments.

(He didn’t like Simon calling him ‘Greenfeld.’ He knew that Simon was just joking around, but it sounded wrong coming out of his mouth.)

But more to the point, that was the more logical explanation for the way Simon had just been staring at him. He was just shocked that he would participate.

How lame did he think that he was?

Well, okay. This wasn’t an entirely fair thought. He hadn’t exactly dressed up on Halloween. And he would never have worn the stupid cheerleading uniform in the first place, except he couldn’t get Simon’s question from the party out of his head: _Where’s your costume?_

Or Jacques’s: **_Don’t you realize you’re throwing away the perfect opportunity to be someone else for an evening?_**

Well, Simon _was_ the type of person who’d probably think that a dementor costume was both simplistic and badass, so maybe --

No. No. Why did he always so this to himself? Plenty of people had (rightfully) rolled their eyes at his “THIS IS A COSTUME” shirt last Friday. There was no good reason to zero in on Simon.

He still thought about it the entire class period instead of paying attention to the film version of _Twelfth Night._

**

Speaking of Jacques.

The problem with lying was that it tended to lead to more lying to cover up the initial lying. He hadn’t anticipated this, though, when he had lied about something as innocuous as his Halloween plans.

But last weekend, after the party, he had gotten very nervous about…basically everything that was going on in his life, and he had overcompensated.

He’d emailed Jacques and made up things about what likely would have happened had he actually stayed home to hand out candy all night, instead of leaving the bowl on the porch after he left for the party.

It was true enough that he had extra Reese’s. It was just that they were from the extra bag his mom had bought.

But the Reese’s had led to a conversation about sex (Jacques was a virgin too, apparently).  And this had led to a conversation about Spirit Week, which in turn led to a conversation in which Bram had laid out some pretty deep insecurities. It had been difficult, but almost cathartic, to talk about how afraid it was for him sometimes just to participate in his life the way that he wanted to. To be **_locked into himself,_ ** as Jacques had put it.

The point was: he had ~~let himself~~ gotten distracted enough to forget all about his guilt over his dishonesty. It was harmless, anyway, right?

**

At any rate, he wasn’t thinking about it as he sat down with Garrett on the upper, left part of the bleachers where the soccer team was at the homecoming game that Friday night. He wasn’t thinking about Simon, either. He was just basking in the glow of the stadium lights, the sky that was almost but not quite black, and the crowd’s energy. It was enough to make him genuinely interested in a sport that he was normally at best apathetic about (well, for an evening, anyway). It was enough to make him forget all his Jacques troubles and his Simon troubles and his Leah troubles and just feel at peace.

This was, after all, the last place he was likely to see Simon.

(Come on, he didn’t have to tell _you_ what happened next, did he?)

Just a couple of minutes before the game was supposed to start, he saw Nick a few feet below, walking up toward them.

And with him was Simon.

How was this Bram’s life?

“Eisner! And Spier! What up, Spier?” Garrett chuckled a bit as they approached. Nick and Simon greeted him back.

The problem was that there was not a lot of space. Nick managed to squeeze in just fine, but Simon was having trouble. He sat next to Nick, but half of his butt was clearly hanging off the edge of the seat, and he looked uncomfortable. Out of the corner of his eye, Bram saw Simon scanning around the crown, likely trying to figure out where else to sit.

And it happened again. That thing. The same thing that had made him ask Simon to be his partner for the English project.

He would never have said it if not for his newfound ability to have a reasonably normal conversation with Simon. He would never have said it if he hadn’t been training himself to think of Simon as just another person, or if Simon hadn’t apparently felt comfortable around him now to call him Greenfeld and make a little joke on Gender Bender Day at his expense.

He turned to his right and said, “Hey Marcus, Tyler, move over so Simon has room. There’s plenty of room on your guys’ side.”

Marcus and Tyler moved all the food and stuff they had in the way, and scooted even further right. So did Bram.

His intention had been for Garrett, then Nick, to also scoot down so Simon could fit his entire ass on the bleachers.

Simon either misunderstood or ignored this intention, though, because he got up and walked the few feet required to sit between him and Garrett.

He chose to sit next to Bram. Just a few moments ago, Bram had been nearly relieved at the prospect of not having to think about Simon, and now he was thrilled that Simon had chosen to sit next to him.

He was all over the place. It was exhausting.

“Thanks,” Simon said, smiling at him. Bram had to avert his gaze. Talking was becoming easier, but when Simon looked at him like that…

“I actually was hoping I’d see you here tonight,” Simon said, quietly so that he was the only one who could hear.

This was a nice sentence. Bram almost missed the rest of what he was saying.

“…I thought you might be here because it seems like sort of an athlete thing. So, the thing is, I tried to get Leah to come tonight…”

“You _what_?” Bram looked around quickly. There was no Leah in sight.

“No, no she’s not here. She didn’t’ -- she’s kind of mad at me, actually. I’m really sorry.” Simon looks kind of miserable.

“You – she’s – I told you not to – she’s _mad_ at you?” Great. Now he was causing drama in their friendship.

“Oh, it’s nothing to do with you. I didn’t say anything to her about you, promise –“

“Why did you say anything at all?” Bram interrupted him. This might have been the very first time that he found Simon’s extroversion and eagerness more annoying than charming.

“I…“ Simon looked embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t going to. But I just thought, maybe it would be cool if – I don’t know. I’m sorry. It was stupid. But like I said, I didn’t say anything about you, specifically. I just tried to convince her to come. We never do things like this, and this has actually been kind of fun so far.”

“I – I was surprised to see you here, actually,” Bram said. “It doesn’t really seem like your, uh, your scene or whatever.”

His scene? Who said that? How ridiculous did that sound? And had he just admitted that he paid enough attention to know what Simon’s “scene” was?

Simon didn’t seem to notice anything odd about Bram’s language, though. “Well, it’s not, not really. That’s why Leah’s mad. We always go to WaHo during stuff like this, you know, to stick it to the man or whatever. Like, to protest the clichéness of it all.”

He smiled an adorable, embarrassed smile, which made Bram smile too. That might have just been about the most Simon explanation he had ever heard.

“But,” Simon continued. “I don’t really hate it here. It’s nice to be, like, a part of something, to feel all this energy. Sorry, I know that sounds really dumb.”

“No,” Bram said. “I think I know what you’re saying.” He really, really did. He had been trying to convey something like that to Jacques just a few days ago.

 Hmm. Why _was_ Simon here?

_Stop it, Greenfeld._

“It’s like the whole world is right here on this little football field, and we’re a part of it,” Simon said.

“I…wouldn’t take it that far,” Bram said with a forced laugh, though he knew exactly what Simon meant.

Simon laughed back (he’d made him laugh!). “Yeah, okay, that was bad. But those lights really _are_ freaking awesome, aren’t they?”

Bram froze.

 _But those lights really_ are _freaking awesome, aren’t they?_

 _But those lights really_ are _freaking awesome, aren’t they?_

 _Really_ are.

 _Really_ are.

What had he been responding to with “really _are,”_ emphasis on _are_? Bram hadn’t said anything about the lights.

He felt like most of his body was gone, and he was only his stomach. And his stomach was twisting and turning so fast it was basically painful.

“Yeah,” he said, barely aware that he was speaking. “They are.”

For a split second, their eyes met, and Bram thought that there was a moment of, of recognition or shared knowledge or something. His heart started to beat faster than it already was.

But Simon looked away and turned around, scanning the crowd

“I hate to be this asshole,” he said. “After you got these guys to scoot over for me. But there was someone I was actually gonna go talk to…“

Oh. That was disappointing.

“No, go, go,” Bram said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to, to take up your time or distract you or whatever.”

"The game started ten minutes ago,” Simon said, with a smirk.  “And I sat next to you because I wanted to, because I think you’re cool.”

“Oh, right,” Bram said. “Yeah, I mean. Same. You too.”

Simon laughed a bit, said “See you later,” to everyone, then got up, and walked away.

Bram was sure that his brain was about to explode, and for about ten different reasons.

**

The moment he got to his car after the game was over, he pulled out his phone. The mass exodus out of the parking lot was going to take a while anyway.

He opened up his Blue Gmail. Damn the school for blocking the network and not letting him do this until now.

And…yes. He was right. Last Saturday, he had written to Jacques about how much he liked homecoming. To be precise, he had written, **_I guess it’s something about the lights and the drumbeats and the scent of the air._**

Was that what Simon had been responding to when he had mentioned the lights two hours ago? Or had he just been making a random observation?

As Bram waited for the parking lot to clear a bit, he was forced to contemplate the very real possibility that Simon might actually be Jacques.

He hadn’t really thought that there was any chance that it was true. And now that there was, he was terrified.

**

A couple of weeks later, Bram was still not entirely sure what to make of his conversation with Simon at the homecoming game. Had he just imagined the tone Simon used when he talked about the lights? Had he heard what he wanted to hear?

As a result, he had become even more hyperaware of every word out of Simon’s mouth than he already was.

Also as a result, he had been keeping his and Jacques’ emails deliberately light, talking about favorite movies and favorite junk foods and stuff like that.

Whoever Jacques was, he really, really liked Oreos.

And whoever he was, he had sisters. **_My sisters and I actually made up this place called the Shoreo a few years ago…_**

He knew that Simon had a younger sister who went to Creekwood. And he was pretty sure that he had an older one too.

(Okay, he’d checked last year’s yearbook, and there she was, Alice Spier. She looked enough like Simon that there was no other explanation.)

Whoever Jacques was, did he realize he was giving away so much about himself? How hard did he think it was to figure out if someone had sisters (plural!)?

There were just so many similarities now. But their class was huge – there were probably a lot of guys who had had girlfriends and who had sisters…

…and who had made commentary about the stadium lights? And who wrote exactly like Simon talked?

But still, there was something about Jacques that made him reckless. So when he told him that he fantasized about him having sex, he only felt a little guilty that he was really talking about Simon.

After all, it was looking like they may indeed be one and the same. Maybe,

**

On the 17th, Bram watched Simon walk into Mr. Wise’s class with Leah, both wearing birthday party hats. Bram was glad she didn’t seem mad at Simon anymore.

And whose birthday was it at their table? Leah liked to do this with people’s birthdays. Bram thought it was really cool. He did sort of get Garrett’s Leah thing, in a theoretical way.

“Happy birthday Simon!” called Abby from behind Bram.

Oh. He hadn’t known that.

After spending half an hour talking about Thoreau, Mr. Wise told them to work on their _Twelfth Night_ projects. (They weren’t due for a few weeks, but they were moving on to other readings.)

Bram walked over to where Simon was and sat down in the seat that had just been vacated by Leah. It usually happened the other way around. Simon usually came to him.

“Happy birthday,” he told him as he sat down.

Simon smiled that Simon-smile at him. “Thanks,” he said, then he rubbed his hands together. “We’re probably getting cake today.”

“Oh yeah,” Bram said. “Are you, uh, doing anything today? For your birthday, I mean.” Simon had said that he was “cool.” He could ask these things.

“Probably just another cake with the family; my parents are dorks about birthdays,” Simon said. “Oh wait, I mean, I’m going out to the club. And I’m not seeing my parents at all. Obviously.”

He winked at Bram. He _winked_ at him. Bram laughed, trying to pretend he was perfectly cool and collected and not going crazy inside.

But he had developed some courage lately.

“Oh yeah, the club,” Bram said. “I know it well. I’m surprised I didn’t see you there on Saturday.”

Simon laughed, and it was a real laugh. His head even tilted back a bit. Bram looked at the floor to hide how wide his smile was, but Simon didn’t seem to notice.

“Seems like your kind of place,” Simon said.

Were they flirting? Is that what this was?

_Well, maybe it would be if he didn’t think that you liked Leah._

“No, but seriously,” Bram said. “I basically just do cake with my mom these days, too.”

“Right?” Simon said. “Anything beyond that and maybe, like, going to a movie with your friends seems weird.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Bram said. “Almost like we’re too old to take the passing of the years seriously.”

And as they turned their attention to their presentation plans, he tried to ignore just how much talking to Simon felt like talking to Jacques.

 **

It became harder to ignore the next morning, when he opened an email that Jacques had written him in the middle of the night.

 _T **oday has been pretty freaking great actually,**_ Jacques had written. Was it because it was his birthday?

And then later that same day. **_Too much sugar yesterday,_** Jacques said.

He and Simon had literally just had a conversation about all the cake he was going to eat yesterday.

Wow. Okay. Okay. Okay.

Was Jacques/Simon(?) trying to tell him something? He just didn’t know.

Needless to say, he casually rebuffed Jacques’s (joking but clearly not at all joking) offer of meeting in the dark like some reality show.

His life already felt like a damn reality show at this point.

 

**To Be Continued**


	3. In Which Things Go Very Right, Then Very Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to seem kind of awesome, but then...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Val and Julie for giving this thing a look-see, as always.
> 
> And if you recognized the italic, bolded parts, it's because they're quoted directly from the Kindle version of _Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda_.

He did his best not to think of all that drama over Thanksgiving break. He emailed Jacques nearly every day, though rarely anything of consequence.

Instead, he spent his days off mostly mulling over a different type of drama. Potential drama.

Coming out. To his parents. It had been in the back of the brain for months, but with everything that had been going on lately, he felt like he needed to get something off his chest to someone.

It’s not as though he thought his mom would kick him out or do send him away to some weird camp or anything ridiculous like that. There are actually a couple of gay people in their congregation, and she has always treated them as she has treated everyone else who attended their church: warmly, like family, hugs not handshakes.

None of them were her son, though.

And he knew that no matter how accepting her reaction would be (and it probably would be), there was going to be a part of her that was going to be disappointed that he was not going to have what she considered a traditional, Jesus-sanctioned future. That was going to grieve for the life that she had thought that her only child would have.

She would get past it. She was unlikely to be the mother who passive aggressively showed her disapproval for decades. It wasn’t her style. And anyway, she loved him more than she loved anything else in the world, and he knew that would never change.

But still, she would be disappointed, at least slightly. And there was nothing in the world that Bram hated more than disappointing people.

He thought telling his dad would probably be easier. Religion wasn’t as big in his life as it was in his mom’s, and for reasons that were both due to geography and personality, they just weren’t quite as close. He didn’t doubt that his dad also loved him more than anything, but he just seemed like a closed book sometimes (his mom said that he’s where Bram had got that from).

They had a good relationship, all things considered – they talked on the phone a few times a week, and he was his now-second most reliable email partner – but it was just different.

He was seriously considering just telling him over Hotel Hanukkah in a couple weeks. It would be a less anxiety-provoking opening act for the main show that telling his mom was likely to be.

He wanted to email Jacques about his conflict over who to tell first, and he probably would, but he wavered over the break. From what he could tell, Jacques’ parents were married and, if the sheer rate of blaspheming in his inbox was anything to go by (or whatever the hell he was talking about with reality TV), not especially religious.

What? _Hell_ wasn’t _really_ blaspheming.

Jacques would without a doubt sympathize, but he just wouldn’t be able to empathize in quite the same way. He was on his own for this one, mostly.

**

The first day back from Thanksgiving break, Simon asked for his phone number.

It was right after he had passed him his Thoreau quiz.

“How could Mr. Wise possibly not know our names by now? We see him every freaking day,” Simon said.

“I mean, to be fair, between our two first names, there are three whole syllables involved,” Bram said.

Five, technically, but whatever.

“And how do _you_ have time to go out to all the clubs _and_ get 100s on English quizzes?” Simon asked him, his tone mock-accusatory.

“It’s not hard,” Bram said. “Don’t blame me for your inadequacies.”

Simon laughed. Making Simon laugh was quickly becoming his favorite thing in the world. It was unreal.

“Hey, we’re getting to the point where we’re gonna have to start really figuring out this Powerpoint we’re gonna do for the presentation,” Simon continued. “And I checked, and apparently, I actually don’t even have your phone number. I almost couldn’t believe it.”

Bram could believe it. He wouldn’t have had to check.

He told Simon his phone number, and then Simon sent him a text under his desk so that he could save his.

 _Simon_ had his phone number.

When he checked his phone in second period (doing it in front of Simon would have looked pathetic and weird), Simon’s text read, _What’s up, party animal??_ There was a winky emoji after it.

He had Simon’s phone number.

**

By the next day, the coming-out-to-his-parents thing was weighing so heavily on his mind that he did end up emailing Jacques about it. His dad was coming this very weekend and he still was not entirely sure.

He used the excuse of claiming to have finally googled “Hour to Hour, Note to Note” and downloaded “Waltz #2” as the main body of the email (he had, of course, really done this weeks ago). Then, he casually threw in the coming out thing at the end.

Jacques’ response was exactly what he could have asked for. He didn’t spend the whole email analyzing it for him, but he also didn’t pretend like it wasn’t a big, scary thing.

Okay. Bram was probably going to do it, he decided. The Coming Out Thing.

But tonight, he was more interested in Jacques’ ridiculous but amazing ideas about who should wear a musician’s T-shirt (which got Bram’s mind whirring), and that he found Bram distracting.

Bram found him distracting, too. Both of him.

(You know, if Bram was right.)

**

Bram had thought that the phone number thing would, in all likelihood, be a just-in-case type of situation. He and Simon saw each other every day, and any random text conversation Bram might try to start would fizzle out awkwardly.

But that Wednesday afternoon, when Bram still had his head in the clouds about this “distracting” business, he got a text from Simon.

_Hey, I was thinking, should we maybe try and meet after school one day to work on this powerpoint? I know we thought we didn’t need to, but there’re a few things I’m not sure about, and it might be easier to be in the same room._

(It was technically a Google Slides presentation -- so they could both access it easily -- but they were referring to it as a Powerpoint.)

Bram hesitated. After school? With Simon? Alone? He felt his heart rate go up, just looking at the text.

He almost responded by pointing out that Simon had rehearsal every day after school, but stopped himself just in time. Simon would probably think it very weird that Bram knew his schedule. Probably.

So he responded, _I’m up for that. What day works best for you?_

Simon said, _This Friday ok? I don’t have rehearsal._

_That’s good for me._

_We can do it at my house. It’s super close to the school. I’ll give you address tomorrow?_

_Ok._  

Okay.

**

Bram parked in front of Simon’s house at a little after 3pm on Friday. He’d done Google Maps instead of just following Simon because they’d figured that, with the amount of traffic leaving the school, he might have easily lost him. This had been a good idea, as Bram had gotten a crappy parking spot that morning, and it took him nearly half an hour to get off school grounds.

There was another car parked extremely close to the biggish, beige house. For a moment, Bram was certain that this had really just been a secret plot to get him and Leah in a room together.

But when he knocked on the door, Abby Suso answered.

“Hey Bram,” she smiled at him. “Come on, Simon’s in the kitchen.”

He followed her down the hallway and into a kitchen with a huge island and a very casual-looking dining room attached so that it was essentially just one big room.

“Hey,” Simon smiled at him from where he was unloading a dishwasher. “Sorry, my mom will kill me if I don’t have this finished by the time she gets home from work.”

“It’s fine,” Bram said. He was in Simon’s house, oh man, he was in Simon’s house. “Should we, uh, work here or…?” He gestured toward where Abby had just sat down sat the dining room table and started looking at her phone.

“Oh yeah, sorry,” Simon said. “Go ahead and sit down. It’ll be much easier to work in here than in my room. It’s kind of a mess. And by kind of, I mean I can’t remember what the floor looks like.”

Bram had to casually look down and away to hide his face’s new color. Simon’s room. Simon’s room was in this house he was standing in. What would it reveal, if they did go in there and work? Elliott Smith posters? Oreo wrappers?

Plus, it was his room. Where he slept, in a bed.

Yes, they were probably better off working in the kitchen.

Bram sat down in the seat next to Abby’s. She looked up from her phone and smiled at him again, a polite smile you’d give to someone you were only vaguely familiar with.

“Sorry I’m crashing your party,” she said. “I won’t bug you guys, I promise. But we’re going to WaHo in a couple hours to run lines with Marty Addison. For the play.”

Marty Addison again. How random.

“I’m so behind on my memorizing,” she continued. “I even got my mom’s car so we could go. But Simon was all like, oh no, me and Bram gotta finish the Powerpoint, we’ll go later.”

“Oh,” Bram said, feeling suddenly a bit unwelcome. “Sorry, I didn’t know…”

“Oh no, God, sorry,” Abby said. “I didn’t mean it like that at all. I was just trying to explain why I was in your guys’ hair. It’s just a pain in the ass to drive all the way back to south county and then come right back, you know?”

Yes, Bram did know.

Before he could respond, Simon walked over and sat down next to Bram, setting his laptop on the table between then.

What else could be found on that laptop? Would the internet history contain evidence of a certain Gmail account?

“Oh shit, Bram,” Simon said. “Sorry, I forgot, did you want, like something to eat or water or something?” He started to rise, but Bram stopped him.

“I’m good,” he laughed. “Thanks for the hospitality, though.” He rolled his eyes, jokingly.

He didn’t want to be a person who Simon offered hospitality to, though, even belatedly.

There was always something inherently awkward about working closely with someone you weren’t very close with. That awkwardness had been getting better these past few weeks, the more he and Simon worked together in class. The pauses had gotten shorter and almost disappeared completely.

But the first few minutes of working on the Powerpoint at Simon’s houses were stilted, to say the least. They talked only about the work itself, which, while normal in class, felt a bit off when you were at someone’s house with all manner of distractions available to you.

After about forty-five minutes, their presentation was starting to look almost decent. Putting together a 10-minute Powerpoint was no joke, but they had already done a lot of the work on their own.

“Is your guys’ presentation done?” Simon asked Abby when there was a lull in the work.

“Ugh, almost,” she said. “Ten minutes is just so much, though.”

“Yeah, but it’ll probably go by fast once we’re actually up in front of the class,” Simon said.

Bram wasn’t sure he agreed. He would be expected to speak in front of 30 people for at least five of those ten minute, and he would have to do so standing right next to Simon.

It was going to last forever.

Abby must have seen something on his face because she said, “Bram’s with me, right, Bram? This is gonna suck.”

“Yeah,” Bram said. “I’m really looking forward to this thing being done.”

“Aw, come one,” Simon said. “We’ll have fun. All these weeks of research are going to pay off in us giving the best freaking presentation about the role of miscommunication in _Twelfth Night_ that anyone in this world has ever seen.”

Yes, this was their actual topic. No, it hadn’t been Bram’s idea. Shut up.

“I’m sure you guys have some stiff competition there,” Abby said.

Bram must have still looked a bit unsure because Simon looked him right in the eye. “Are you really dreading it that much? Mr. Wise said we could split up the talking as much as we wanted as long as we both did an equal amount of work on the whole thing. I can say some of the parts that you were gonna say so it wouldn’t be so bad for you.”

This was extremely nice. Why did every single thing that Simon did or said make him cuter?

“That’s fine, but I think I can handle it,” Bram said, though the offer was tempting.

After another half an hour of work and figuring out the structure of their presentation, they agreed to practice it with Abby as their audience.

They ran through it a couple of times, and it was fine enough. They were both rough, and it could (would) be far better, but it would do for now.

“We probably should head out, Simon,” said Abby after they finished the second time. “So we don’t keep Marty waiting.  


“Oh yeah,” Simon said, as though he’d forgotten their plans. Was Bram deceiving himself in thinking that he looked a little bummed at this reminder? Would he prefer to stay there with Bram?

“Hey – do you wanna go, Bram?” Abby asked. “We’re just going to be running lines for the play, you might be bored, but you’re totally welcome, obviously.”

“Yeah, man, come,” Simon said. “I don’t want to be the only one there without lines.” He poked Abby in the shoulder.

Bram considered it very seriously for a moment. But honestly, being at Simon’s house and hanging out with him and Abby had been a lot for one day. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up the charade of being a normal human not totally in love with Simon. Or Jacques. Or someone.

So he made a lame excuse (was he imaging that Simon looked disappointed by that too?) and went home.

**

All right. There was a reason he hadn’t taken Simon up on his offer to do less of the speaking during their presentation.

Though he hadn’t been able to admit it to himself until today, he had been vaguely considering using the presentation as an opportunity to, well, to sort of impress Simon.

He knew that that sounded ridiculous, especially put as bluntly as that. Impress someone by not coming off as a complete idiot during a Shakespeare presentation in first period? But Bram didn’t really know how else to do it.

He knew that Simon didn’t think he was an especially confident, outgoing person – if the jokes about the cheerleading uniform and the clubs were any indication. (And maybe his emails? He still couldn’t make up his mind about what Simon had figured out there.) And he _wasn’t_ an especially confident, outgoing person, this was true.

But, as much as he hated them, he did know how to do a pretty damn good class presentation. He was organized to a fault and knew how to put himself in the zone to speak to an audience.

That it was an oddly long presentation and that Simon was going to be right beside him were complications, yes. But not impossible ones, not anymore.

And he thought that Simon might find his proficiency surprising and impressive and, you know, worthy of notice.

**

The Coming Out Thing with his dad didn’t go as planned. You know the story. Freaking Casanova, as Jacques said.

He didn’t know how he would have sorted through the chaos in his head if he didn’t have Jacques.

**

Side-note: Jacques’ English teacher was apparently Mr. Wise.

Mr. Wise, who was definitely Simon’s English teacher. Mr. Wise, who taught the class that Bram and Simon were working on a project together for.

Was Jacques/Simon trying to tell him something? Was he sniffing things out? Or maybe he knew exactly who he was talking to, like Bram thought _h_ e did, and forgotten for a moment that they were ostensibly anonymous pen-pals? Bram had almost forgotten many times.

Or maybe he was overthinking it.

But it was possible, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?

**

Telling his mom went as well as it possibly could have. It was so, so hard though. He was just glad that it was over. That he had cleared that previously insurmountable barrier.

But really, what vibe was he giving off that made her think that he was having sex?

**

Not to be arrogant or anything, but when Bram and Simon gave their presentation to their class on the Thursday before Christmas break, they kicked ass. The three other groups that also presented that day paled in comparison, in Bram’s’ opinion. And Bram was not the sort of person to hold that opinion unless it was indisputably true.

Bram had been practicing in front of the mirror all week. Every day, several times a day. He had felt like he had to get this right.

And Simon, well, having Simon a presenting-partner, nervous as it made him, was always going to be helpful to the actual outcome of the presentation. Bram wasn’t sure just how much practicing Simon had done – less than him, no doubt – but Simon had a way of seeming effortless in front of an audience.

Somehow, it had just gone perfectly. Simon had been funny and interactive with the class, and Bram had nailed everything that he was supposed to say. He had sounded confident and prepared even to his own ears. He had even made a couple of lame off-the-cuff jokes himself that had made the class – and Simon -- laugh.

He knew he wasn’t imagining that the class’s applause at the end was a little steadier than it had been for most of the other groups.

“ _Excellent_ job, boys,” Mr. Wise said. “Well done.”

After he and Simon had sat down again, Simon leaned over to him and whispered, “Don’t look now, but I’m pretty sure we just fucking rocked that.”

“Hell yeah, we did,” he whispered back. He smiled at Simon, and Simon smiled at him, and for a moment the world seemed so very perfect.

**

Everyone at lunch agreed that their presentation had been the best.

“Shit, like, _hol_ y shit,” Leah said. “You guys took that shit seriously.”

“We tried,” Bram said.

“Most of it was Bram,” Simon said. “I was just along for the ride.”

“That’s not true,” Bram said, frowning. It wasn’t, either. Why would he say…oh. Leah. Right.

“Well, either way,” Nick said, clearly having no idea what Simon was trying to do. Thank goodness. “You’re both getting A’s.”

“I’m actually a little irritated we’ve never worked on anything before, though. Or, like, talked at all,” Simon said, looking at Bram. “You’re a kickass partner, Bram. We should do this again.”

“Yeah,” Bram said. “We definitely should.”

**

Of course, his euphoria couldn’t last. The very next day, he went home and learned that he was going to have a sibling. A sibling that would be seventeen years younger than him

(He was going to have to share his dad. As though they needed more distance.)

Over the next few days, he was profoundly glad that he had made no ridiculous declarations and somehow jeopardized his relationship with Jacques.

Again, he wasn’t sure what he would have done without him.

He also wondered whether he would pick up the hint about him not being white.

**

Now that he mentioned it.

By this point, it wouldn’t be unusual to perhaps be wondering why Bram had yet to say anything to Simon about his suspicions about their email relationship.

This was difficult for Bram to justify, even to himself.

Because, wait _, If_ Simon did suspect the truth now – and this did not seem impossible; he and Bram had gotten to know each other better in the past month than they had in the two years previous  --  why had he not said anything?

 _Well, again, why haven’t_ you _said anything?_

He didn’t know. He really didn’t. It had something to do with not knowing how to move past this absurd Leah situation

But it was so much more than that, of course.

Just a few weeks ago, he remembered thinking that lying about being at the Halloween party wasn’t such a big deal, and that the few smaller lies that followed were equally harmless.

And maybe they were, but the problem was that every conversation he had had with Simon or Jacques since then felt as though it had the tinge of a lie to it.

He had become progressively more certain with each passing week that the boy who he collaborated with on his Shakespeare project and greeted in the hallway and rolled his eyes at Mr Wise with and discussed the stadium lights with was _also_ the boy he poured his anxieties into and flirted with and discussed the stadium lights with.

And he hadn’t said anything about it to either of them. Either of him?

**

He endlessly agonized over his two problems at the beginning of Christmas break, try as he might have to distract himself with video games at Garrett’s house and movie nights with his cousins.

Problem 1: Oh baby. Baby baby baby baby baby. Brother. He was going to be a brother.

Problem 2: Simon and Jacques and the mess that he was in there.

There was nothing he could do about Problem 1 but get used to it. His mom had been thankfully giving him some distance about the subject ever since his dad had gone back to Savannah. Most likely, she was also more than a bit uncomfortable with her ex-husband’s wife having a baby.

People were funny like that. Things that technically shouldn’t matter or hurt you mattered and hurt you. It was nice being on the same page with his mom about this one.

Problem 2? Well, a plan was forming in his head. Maybe.

**

You see, on Christmas Eve Day, he had gotten a text from Simon.

_Merry Xmas Eve!!! (Yes, I am the dude who texts this to everyone.)_

Well, it was nice to be considered a part of “everyone,” at least.

_Merry Christmas Eve right back to you! No gifts yet, unfortunately._

(He agonized endlessly over whether to write Xmas or Christmas – did spelling it out make it seem like he cared too much? He also added a winky emoji, after much consideration.)

 _Ugh me neither,_ Simon texted back. _Parents are such slackers this year._

Simon also added a winky emoji.

Bram debated with himself for a minute whether to respond or just leave the conversation at that, but Simon made the decision for him

 _So don’t feel awkward about saying no to this,_ Simon wrote. Bram’s heart rate increased.

Simon’s next text said, _But I’ve been meaning to ask you. A few people are coming over to my house on New Years’ to watch Netflix and eat junk food. You’re 100% invited if you don’t have other plans._

Simon was inviting him to his house. Not to do homework, but to hang out.

…when he was going to be in Savannah.

 _And Garrett is also totally invited_ _btw,_ Simon continued. _But I don’t have his number._

Bram carefully considered how to reply.

 _I’m going to be out of town visiting family,_ he wrote. _And so is Garrett, I think. I’ll pass that along, though._

Feeling brave, Bram continued, _Thanks so much, though. If I were going to be in Shady Creek, the clubs would be closed on New Year’s. Where would I have gone? You would have been my savior._

Simon sent back three of the tears-of-joy emojis, and then, _Wait, are clubs closed on New Year’e Eve?_

 _Did you forget that this “clubs” running joke was, in fact, a joke?_ Bram wrote. _You’re kind of asking the wrong person._

Simon sent another tears-of-joy emoji, and then wrote, _Sorry, my little sister would like admission to my room for some certainly horrifying reason. Have a good break!!_

 _You too,_ Bram texted back. Wow. Just…wow.

**

And also, there was the exchange with Jacques the next day, on Christmas (which was perfectly nice, thank you for asking.)

Somehow, Jacques had been outed to the world, whatever that meant. Bram’s compassion for his friend was greater than his intrigue, but his intrigue was definitely there. What did that mean, exactly?

But Jacques also wanted to exchange phone numbers, because he wanted to text him.

Simon had been texting him literally yesterday.

What did that mean? Was it a sign? A wink and a nudge? Was Jacques/Simon/whoever trying to tell him something? Was it ‘Texting you was cool yesterday, let’s forget the fake anonymity and do this thing’ or was it ‘I am totally oblivious and did not notice that our texts went exactly as our emails usually do’?

Bram could not decide.

But as he had alluded to, he had a plan. Kind of. Well, the “plan” consisted mostly of obsessively rereading every email Jacques had ever sent to him for clues.

And if he was sure enough when he was finished, he would stop being so evasive in his emails. He would drop clues, like Jacques did, but more.

He had already started, in a way. Jacques knew that he was going to be in Savannah, and Simon knew that he was going to be out of town.

And if the emails went the way he wanted to, he would talk to Simon when they got back to school. Or maybe the day after. He would tell him. He would.

**

On the ride to Savannah the next day, he reread the emails exhaustively, and only grew more certain.

It was Simon. It had to be, right?

Surged with an odd wave of doubt when he was finished, he googled every combination of the words “Jacques,” “Simon,” and “Spier” he could think of, doubting that anything would come up.

But.

Jacques a dit.

That was what they called “Simon Says” in French. It translated to “James said” or “John said,” but it was the same game.

He smiled the whole rest of the way to his dad’s house. His stepmom even asked what was the matter with him

**

That night, after he had replied to Jacques’ **_AND THE LIKE?_** email (oops), he did something he didn’t do very often. He logged into Facebook.

He usually only logged in when he was either very bored or if he had notifications. The website was a weapon of social anxiety, and Bram had enough of that.

He wouldn’t have bothered logging in, except he had been growing increasingly curious (and concerned) about Jacques outed-to-the-universe thing.

And he probably still wouldn’t have pried anyway, but if he was going to tell Simon the truth, he thought he should probably have some idea what the deal was there.

But Simon’s Facebook page revealed nothing at all out of the ordinary.

Oh well. He would figure it out eventually. In the meantime, he browsed through all of the Christmas pictures and look-at-my-shiny-new-thing statuses on his own feed.

He was about to log out when he saw an odd status from Abby Suso. It said, “Anonymity has a way of making assholes real brave, doesn’t it?”

Bram froze and almost couldn’t breathe for a moment. Anonymity? What?

Sixty-seven people had liked Abby’s status, and Bram saw that one of them had been Simon.

A few posts down, Anna McSomething from their lunch table had an even more intriguing status.

With an obnoxious clapping emoji between every word, Anna had posted, “STOP. GOING. ON. THAT. TUMBLR. IT. IS. FUCKING. TOXIC.”

Thirty-two people had liked this. Bram couldn’t help but think that it was idiotic of Anna to post this or for anyone to like it. All it would do would make everyone who saw it go to Creeksecrets, which was indeed mostly toxic, to see what had caused her to make that status.

Bram had a sudden epiphany. _Oh, Simon, no, I’m so sorry…_

Bram typed in the Creeksecrets address.

The very first post read:

**_SIMON SPIER’S OPEN INVITATION TO ALL DUDES_ **

**_Dear all dudes of Creekwood, With this missive, I hereby declare that I am supremely gay and open for business. Interested parties may contact me directly to discuss arrangements for anal buttsex. Or blue-jobs. But don’t give me blue balls. Ladies need not apply. That is all._ **

Bram felt so many things in that moment that it was impossible to properly articulate. First angry and confused and horrified and…

Wait.

Wait.

He stared at the screen for the next ten minutes, trying desperately to think of an innocent reason as for why, on the last line, the word “blue” had been repeated twice in the span of seven words.

 

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [backs away slowly...]
> 
>  
> 
> [I'm on Tumblr if you want to say hi!](http://paigey-waigey.tumblr.com/)


	4. In Which It's All Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was all just getting to be too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter did not get finished in time to be pre-read, but I'm going to thank Val and Julie anyway, because they're awesome!
> 
> And if you recognized the italic, bolded parts, it's because they're quoted directly from the Kindle version of _Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda_. If you're confused by the fonts varying in the emails this chapter, it's because of that .

_Bram typed in the Creeksecrets address._

_The very first post read:_

**_SIMON SPIER’S OPEN INVITATION TO ALL DUDES_ **

**_Dear all dudes of Creekwood, With this missive, I hereby declare that I am supremely gay and open for business. Interested parties may contact me directly to discuss arrangements for anal buttsex. Or blue-jobs. But don’t give me blue balls. Ladies need not apply. That is all._ **

_Bram felt so many things in that moment that it was impossible to properly articulate. First angry and confused and horrified and…_

_Wait._

_Wait._

_He stared at the screen for the next ten minutes, trying desperately to think of an innocent reason as for why, on the last line, the word “blue” had been repeated twice in the span of seven words._

**

Blue. Blue. Blue.

It took Bram all 10 of those minutes of staring at his computer screen for his thoughts to unscramble in the slightest and for his brain to jump back on line.

Okay. Think rationally.

No. No. Panic. Panic. It said _blue._ Twice. Right there, for anyone to see. Everyone knew.

His name was on that post twice.

Except…it wasn’t his name. Calm. Down. No one but Simon knew what “blue” meant. (Right?) He had just been on Facebook. There had been nothing unusual there. If the whole school knew exactly who “Blue” was, wouldn’t he have gotten some indication? A nasty message or something?

Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe **_blue-jobs_** was a typo.

But how could it be a coincidence? It said **_blue_** twice. It was a post about Simon Spier being gay, and it said _blue_ twice.

Would Simon…but why…what? Was Simon making fun of him? Had all of this just been a cruel joke? Had be been catfished?

He’s never felt lower in his life.

But wait, if that were the case, then why would he make _this_ post about himself, and then only refer to Bram in a way that only they knew about? Or in a way that he _thought_ that only they knew about?

Why would _anyone_ make this post about himself? It wasn’t an inspirational coming-out post. It was a cruel, almost vindictive-seeming smear.

The more he thought about it, and the more he came out of his panic mode, the less likely it seemed that Simon would write this.

Right?

There had to be a reasonable explanation for this. There just had to be.

Okay. Deep breath. Calm. Rational.

If you looked at the post, the **_blues_** didn’t really stick out that much. A random person might vaguely notice them and their odd nearness (plus **, _blue-jobs_** was noticeable), but even if this person did, it still seemed like that observation would be overwhelmed in that person’s eyes by the whole, **_I hereby declare I am gay and open for business_** part.

Bram felt a moment of relief, but then also a strong shot of guilt for that relief.

_Oh, Simon._

It was only then that he remembered Jacques’ email yesterday.

He opened up Gmail in a new tab.

 ** _Basically,_** the email read, **_due to certain mysterious circumstances, I’m now out to my whole family and will soon be out to the whole freaking universe. And I guess that’s all I can say about it._**

He had sent that email yesterday, on Christmas. He had known about this since yesterday. Wait. He switched to his other tab, and looked at the Tumblr post’s time stamp for the first time.

**_December 24, 10:15 A.M._ **

Two days ago. This post had gone up on the morning of Christmas Eve. Hell, this post had gone up before Simon had even asked him to go to his New Years thing.

Simon/Jacques (because, yeah, now they were definitely one and the same) had known about this for at least 24 hours, and possibly more than twice that, and had said nothing.

Nothing except, **_And I guess that’s all I can say about it._**

What did he mean, _that was all that he could say about it?_ There was a Tumblr post that the whole school could see that seemed to allude to Bram (or Blue, rather) and _that was all he could say about it_? Why hadn’t he said anything more? Didn’t he think that he deserved to know that that was out there?

Didn’t he think that Blue would see it?

Well, okay, there had been a good chance that he wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t happened to have uncharacteristically been scrolling through Facebook tonight.

But there was no reason for Simon to think that.

Bram was just so confused.

So, someone had found out that Simon was gay (the "friend" he had told Bram that he’d come out to, maybe?) and had decided to tell the whole world.

Had Simon also told this person about Blue? About Bram? Had he just gone around telling people about his shy, closeted internet (boy)friend? He said he’d only told the one person about being gay at all, but, he didn’t know what to think anymore.

Bram…did not like that. He’d thought that what their relationship was more private than that. He’s thought it was more…special than that. Than something he’d tell some (clearly untrustworthy) person about.

But the equally strange and hurtful and confusing thing that Bram’s mind kept returning to was that Simon/Jacques had said nothing about this to him.

He opened a new tab, prepared to write what was sure to be a long, hurt, self-righteous email.

But he thought better of it. Better to sleep on it.

He didn’t really sleep a whole lot that night, though.

**

When he woke up the next morning, he had an email from Jacques. Surely there would be some explanation inside, right?

The subject line was “I’m so confused.” Bram took a deep breath and opened the email.

**…about why Americans don’t have Boxing Day. I mean, I know it’s supposed to be the day after Christmas, and I’m a day late, but in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire…**

Well, that was anticlimactic.

He usually found all of Jacques’ many Harry Potter references adorable. This one, he found anything but.

Why was he talking about Boxing Day (or the lack thereof) when that Tumblr post was right there, live on the internet? When the word “blue” was repeated twice in the same post about Simon Spier being gay, and he clearly knew about it?

Still deeply conflicted about how he felt about this whole thing (and Jacques’ strange lack of mention of it), Bram ignored the email. He could answer it tomorrow.

**

And he did. It might have come across as a little odd to Simon, because as of late they had been emailing multiple times a day. It was short and perfunctory, but passable. He didn’t know how to broach the topic quite yet, but he also didn’t want to make a strange situation even more awkward than it already was.

He continued to email Jacques as though everything were perfectly normal and fine, but his confusion and conflict over the situation didn’t abate over the next couple of days.

And it was coupled with his internal war over when and how to come out to his dad. He must have opened his mouth to start the conversation five different times, and somehow, he just couldn’t. he’d thought that, as he’d already told his mom, this would be so much simpler. But as it turned out, the added stress and weirdness of the Simon situation only made him more anxious about everything.

He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be angry with Simon or feel bad for him. Well, okay, he did feel bad for him, of course. Horrible. It was just so strange to feel so many things at once. This was why he usually chose the sidelines of life.

**

On New Year’s Eve, he was genuinely distracted from all of this for the first time in days. He was at a party at his stepmom’s grandmother’s house. His stepmom had gone around showing everyone ultrasound photos, which was perfectly fine until her cousin’s pregnant wife (yes, that cousin) had pulled out her own 3D ones.

It had been so awful that he had found solidarity with her younger, teenage relatives, who he was normally a little awkward around. They were sitting in a corner of the living room, avoiding the adults and mocking what she had called her “beautiful” pictures.

He had just begun to actually enjoy himself and relax when he got a text from Simon.

 _Happy happy New Year’s!!!! (I text this to everyone too, you’re soooooooo going to regret giving me this number._ ) _I hope whatever club you’re at wherever you are is as awesome as_ The Soup _reruns we’re watching, though I sincerely doubt it._

Good mood officially ruined.

What…why…what was Simon doing? What the hell? _Was_ he mocking him? To what end?

For goodness’ sake, had all of these club jokes been significantly more mean-spirited than he’d though, too? But that just didn’t seem like the kind of person Simon was.

Well, at least it didn’t seem like the kind of person Jacques was. But Jacques was only words typed on a keyboard. He didn’t necessarily exist at all.

Maybe that wasn’t fair. Maybe Bram was just overanalyzing every detail, and Simon was just extremely oblivious.

So why was he flirting (how could that not be flirting?) over text, but not making any allusion to the Blue thing or the Tumblr thing?

Bram didn’t text him back.  He could fake it a bit for Jacques, but he just didn’t know where to begin with Simon.

**

And fake it he did on the 1st and the 2nd. Jacques was frustrated over his lack of forthcomings. _Jacques_ was frustrated over _his_ lack of forthcoming.

**_Except SOMEONE still doesn’t want to exchange numbers._ **

_YOU. TEXTED. ME. LAST. NIGHT. HOW. CAN. YOU. NOT. REALIZE. THAT? ARE. YOU. MOCKING. ME? ARE. YOU. PLAYING. DUMB? WHAT. IS. GOING. ON?,_ he typed.

He erased it immediately, although those obnoxious, ungrammatical periods had been momentarily satisfying. Maybe that was why people did that.

 ** _I think I’m scared to lose you,_** he wrote instead, which, well, which was the absolute truth.

He was afraid to lose both of them.

But nothing felt right at the moment. All of his emails to Jacques were phony with cheer and jokes. It didn’t seem real anymore. It felt like something bad was happening. It felt like something was breaking.

**

The first day back to school was Not Great.

He was almost late, for one. He was never late. It was annoying.

He slid into a desk in Mr. Wise’s class just before the bell rang, nodding at Garrett next to Nick on the full couch.

(He was slightly relieved that none of his other classmates seemed to notice him. Or stand up and laugh and point at him. It’s not like he thought that they _would._ The Tumblr post made no direct reference to him, and he surely would have heard something from Garrett if he’d heard something about Bram. But still. It was a relief.)

(He felt guilty again for being relieved when Simon was likely going to go through hell today. This was so hard.)

He determinedly did not look for Simon for most of the class period. If he avoided the issue and all its ensuing embarrassment and awkwardness, it might disappear. That was how it worked, wasn’t it?

His not-looking-at-Simon plan was foiled, though, when he bumped into him as he was leaving the classroom to go to second period. It was really Simon’s fault because he was kind of blocking the door. But then, Bram was looking at the floor instead of in front of him.

“Oh – sorry,” Bram said.

“It’s okay,” Simon smiled at him. “I guess I should move out of the way. How was your break?”

“Fine,” Bram said. He knew that he should ask how Simon’s went, but he just wasn’t sure how he was supposed to carry on a conversation with him right now. “Um, I’ll see you later.”

“Oh, yeah,” Simon said, sounding surprised at his rudeness. Bram couldn’t look at him, though, so he didn’t know what his expression was. “Later.”

Bram knew he had been rude, and normally he would agonize over such an awkward interaction, but he honestly just had to be not be near Simon right now.

**

Lunch was awful. All of the girls at the table were discussing Simon’s boyfriend prospects. Lovely.

He almost got through the whole thing without trouble until Nick did that annoying straight-guy thing where he got all touchy-feely with Abby when Anna made a joke about him being gay.

The fragility of heterosexuality. Even if he was joking. Seriously.

But then Leah got irritated (for obvious reasons), and the whole thing ended with her storming away from the table.

He noticed that Garrett was staring at her retreating figure. He caught his eye as he looked back at the table and smirked at him. Garrett smirked back and shrugged.

 ** _“If you like her, just ask her out,”_** Simon’s angry voice shocked him. He turned to look at him, surprised that he had noticed Garrett’s ridiculous display.

But it wasn’t Garrett who Simon was staring at. It was Bram.

Of course it was. Of course. What the hell was Simon trying to do?

Somehow, his frustration with the entire situation he was in got the better of him. These emotions really were controlling him these days.

He scoffed.

“Maybe I should,” he said, wanting inexplicably to hurt Simon in some way. He wasn’t certain that it would have any effect whatsoever, but moments later, Simon also got up and walked away from the table.

No one else seemed to have heard him, though.

Well, no one except Garrett.

“Wait, what?” he asked quietly to Bram when Simon was far enough from the table. “You’re…you’re gonna ask out Leah?”

“Of course not,” Bram said. “Don’t be stupid. I wouldn’t do that.”

“But you just said – ”

“I didn’t mean…” Bram said. “I was just kidding all right? I don’t like her like that.”

“Okay,” Garrett said, frowning. “Okay.”

One of the best parts of their friendship was that Garrett had always known how internal Bram could be, and he didn’t endlessly interrogate him about things when he could tell Bram wasn’t in the mood.

At this moment, though, a very small part of Bram wished that he would.

**

If lunch was weird, then practice was weirder,

For one, Nick was acting a little strange. Distant. And Nick was one of those people who could be distant without intending to be, but this was more than normal. He barely acknowledged Bram or Garrett during their first drills. And when the coach called for a break, he stood with them but didn’t talk, just stared into space.

Bram chalked it up to his Abby drama. Maybe it was that thing with Leah at the lunch table earlier.

But then, he finally spoke up. “Oh,” he said, then ran over to the fence, where Bram noticed Simon was standing with Abby. Because of course he was.

“Let’s go over there too,” Garrett said. And before Bram could say anything, he was running over to the three of them. And Bram had no real choice but to follow.

Almost right away, Abby and Nick started flirting, as if they didn’t care how awkward that made things for the rest of them.

 ** _“So, it’s going well?”_** Simon said, angling his body toward him and Garrett in a blatant attempt to give Abby and Nick some mockery of privacy.

 ** _“Pretty well,”_** Garrett said.

There was a long, awkward silence, the kind of which Bram had not experienced with Simon for months. He was looking away from him, but he felt Simon’s eyes on him. He tried to telepathically communicate to Garrett to use some of his bull-in-a-china-shop social graces to fill the silence.

No such luck.

 ** _“What happens if you really screw up the audition?_** ” Simon asked.

Oh, wow. Bram had not allowed himself to think about how adorable Simon was for days. But, oh wow.

 ** _“Auditions?”_** he couldn’t keep himself from teasing if he tried.

“ ** _Tryouts,”_** Simon said, and Bram looked him straight in the face for the first time that day. He was blushing – who wouldn’t be? – and looking right at Bram, and oh, oh, oh.

Then Simon looked down, and Bram remembered that things were weird between them.

“I’m going to go get some more water,” Bram said, and jogged over to the corner of the field where their equipment bags were. He reached into his and got his water out, in case any of the others were watching him.

He waited a few moments, drinking his water and staring at the girls’ team practicing (out of lack of anything else to look at without seeming like a spaced-out idiot), before allowing himself to glance in the direction of the people he’d just run away from.

Simon was looking right at him and frowning. And for some reason, so was Nick.

**

Jacques emailed him that night. About snow.

He wanted to talk about snow. Well, he wanted to talk about how awful his day was more, and Bram felt to terrible for him that he wanted to scream about the injustice of it all.

But he led with _snow._

Bram really couldn’t do this anymore.

 ** _Jacques, I’m almost positive I know who you are,_** he wrote at the end of his reply.

**

The worst part of it was, Jacques’ reply the next day started out hopeful enough.

 ** _You share a first name with a former U.S. president,_** it said. And for half a second, his heart had raced and he had felt something like hope or fear.

But the email ended with, **_And you once pushed me down a dark hallway in a rolling chair._**

That had not happened. With Bram, anyway.

So.

So.

 ** _…I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m the person you think I am,_** Bram wrote back.

**

To be clear, Bram knew that he didn’t have a right to be angry or hurt.

He knew that Simon hadn’t really done anything wrong. He knew that this – Simon believing that “Blue” was someone else entirely – was the only logical explanation for Simon’s casual texting and chatting with him. He knew that it was the best explanation for why Simon had literally asked him for his phone number hours after he had been texting him.

Simon had no idea who he was.

Hell, Simon probably still thought he was just his awkward classmate who had a crush on Leah. And why shouldn’t he?

In the back of his mind, he had always realized that this was a distinct possibility.

But it still hurt. It hurt a lot.

To be clear again, he knew he didn’t rationally have a right to be angry or hurt.

But he was.

If someone had asked, he would have told them that the tiny wet spot on his pillow that night was drool.

**

Because he was a masochist, he checked Gmail in the morning before he went to school.

 ** _Anyway, maybe you’ll guess wrong about me too? And then we would be even?_** Simon’s third paragraph said. Doubtful. **_Though I’m guessing you saw that thing on the Tumblr? God, I feel like such an idiot._**

He spent a good ten minutes trying to figure out how to respond.

 **Yes,** Bram wrote **. I saw the thing on The Tumblr. Thanks for the heads-up, by the way.** _**Anyway, you don’t have to feel like an idiot. It’s fine. But I really don’t think I’m wrong Jacques a dit.  Right?**_

He pressed “Send” and shut his laptop.

**

Martin Addison, Cal Price, or Theo Ryan.

Cal was objectively the most attractive, but Bram had noticed Simon hanging around Martin a few times these past few months. Theo seemed least likely, but who knew?

Anyway, it must have been one of those three. Simon thought that he was emailing one of those three. Bram spent a good portion of that day thinking about it. Unfortunately.

**

He found out the next day.

“Guess who asked Simon out yesterday?” Abby asked in English, walking over to him, Nick, and Garrett before class began. She sat on the arm of the couch next to Nick, her words clearly directed at him.

“Who?” Nick asked

“Cal Price,” Abby said.

“I don’t know who that is,” Nick said. “But, uh, I ship it. I guess. Right? Do I ship it?”

“Cal Price. Calvin Price, I guess,” Abby said. “He’s drama club’s stage manager, and he’s completely adorable. Yes, you ship it.”

“Cool.”

Simon walked into the room.

 **“ _Simon,”_** Abby said as he came toward them _. **“I was just telling Nick about what happened in rehearsal yesterday.”**_

Bram waited an acceptable few moments, trying not to hear the ambiguous conversation. Then he got up and went to the bathroom, away from Simon.

**

Simon didn’t reply to his last email until the next day. He had probably been too distracted by Cal. Why did he even bother?

 ** _I mean, I get it,_** the email began. **I should have told you about that Tumblr post the moment I saw it. I’m so, so sorry. It’s such a long story. I was just so afraid it would scare you away** _._

There were a few more lines, and it ended with, **_Anonymity has served its purpose for us, and I get that. But now I want to know you for real._**

**

 ** _Love, Simon,_** it said.

**_Love, Simon._ **

**

Bram didn’t reply until the next afternoon, Saturday. He’d tried to clear his head, and not be upset with Simon. It hadn’t worked.

 ** _Anyway,_** he concluded the reply, **_it looks like things are working out the way you wanted them to. So, good for you._**

**

Look, again, he knew that he wasn’t being entirely fair. They hadn’t exactly made vows to each other.

But he was entitled to his feelings, wasn’t he?

Bram didn’t know Cal Price all that well. He was in AP and Honors classes too, though, so he had some idea who he was. They’d exchanged probably a dozen or so words before.

And of course Simon thought the he was Blue.

Why wouldn’t he? Cal was a cute, white theater kid, everything most TV shows and movies said “gay” looked like.

But he and Jacques had literally exchanged emails about the assumptions that people make, about white and straight being the default, about the Homo Sapiens Agenda.

And they had flirted in person and via text.

He had honestly expected better of Simon.

**

Simon replied an hour later: **_Working out the way I wanted them to? What the heck are you talking about? ???_**

Bram ignored it.

**

On Monday morning, he woke up to another, longer email from Simon.

 ** _Can we pretend none of this ever happened and go back to normal?_** the email concluded.

For a moment, Bram thought about the Elliott Smith shirt he had tucked away in the corner of his closet. He had ordered it the morning after Christmas, before everything had turned to shit.

He could stick it in a bag and tie it to Simon’s locker. He could write a note explaining how Simon had the wrong impression about the situation. How he was, of course, attracted to him. How that wasn’t the issue here. How he really did want to go back to normal, but how at the same time, he didn’t.

He wavered back and forth for ten minutes.

He decided against it.

**

Something else happened that day, though, something he wasn’t expecting at all.

It was after practice. He was one of the last people left in the locker room; Garrett had just left.

He was tying his shoelaces on the bench when Nick came walking around the corner – his locker was a few rows away.

“Hey,” Bram said. “I’m beat.”

“Me too, man,” Nick said. “That shit was exhausting today.”

There was a moment of what Bram thought was comfortable silence. Comfortable silence was easy around Nick.

“Hey, so, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Nick said.

“Yeah?”

“This is…really awkward,” Nick started. Great. Just what Bram needed right now. “But, look, you’re my friend, okay?”

“Okaaaaaaaay.”

“But, look. Simon is my best friend. Like, my _best_ friend. Since forever”

“I know that,” Bram said. Where was he going with this?

“And – and, if you’ve got a problem with him, then – then -- we have a problem,” Nick said, his words all coming out in a rush, like he wanted to get it over with.

What?

“I don’t --- what makes you think – _what_?” Bram said, or tried to say, anyway,

“You’ve been acting weird around him since we came back from break,” Nick said. “He said that you won’t even look at him or talk to him, and you walk away when he’s around, and that you ignored a text he sent and – ”

“That’s not – I don’t even – ”

“I’m not saying that I think you’re some giant homophobe or anything, but – ”

“I’m not,” Bram said. “I’m _not_.”

For not the first time recently, he wondered how this was his life.

Nick stared at him for a few moments. “Okay,” Nick said. “Okay. Simon just mentioned it. And I had to say something, just in case. There’s been some people being assholes because of that Tumblr post, and I just, I don’t know. I had to check. That’s my best fucking friend.”

It was weird to feel both offended and a little impressed at the same time.

“I don’t know why he thinks – he’s got the wrong impression,” Bram said, “I have no problems with him at all. I honestly don’t care one way or the other.” 

_I'm lying I'm lying I’m gay too I’m gay too I’m gay too I’m gay too I’m gay too and I’m kind of in love with him but I actually do have a problem with him. Just not the one you think._

“Okay,” Nick said. “Like I said, I just had to double check.”

“Okay,” Bram said.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Nick walked away, his shoes squeaking loudly in his wake.

**

Bram thought long and hard about how to respond to Simon’s email that night.

He almost decided that he shouldn’t at all.

But. But.

Simon thought he was avoiding him because he was a homophobe. Nick had confronted him about it.

Simon was probably going to go out with Cal Price, anyway.

This was all just getting to be too much.

 ** _Can we pretend none of this ever happened and go back to normal?_** Simon had asked early this morning.

 **No** _,_ Bram responded at midnight ** _._ I’m sorry. I don’t think I can. ---Blue.**

 

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.
> 
> But I mean, things can only go up from here. Um, mostly, anyway.
> 
> (Also, this fic is now 6 chapters instead of 5.)


	5. In Which He Changes His Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad stuff, then good stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Val and Julie are still awesome, but this chapter was just waaaaaay later than I intended for me to send out for a pre-read.
> 
> And as always, if you recognized the italic, bolded parts, it's because they're quoted directly from the Kindle version of _Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda_.

It was weird, being done with the whole Simon thing. The whole Jacques thing. That thing.

Over the next few days, he did his best to think about anything but…that.

It was hard.

It took all of the strength that he possessed not to check his email.

Lunch was weird and awkward, but he was probably the only one who really noticed. Everyone else was used to him not saying much of anything. They would have no reason to suspect the massive change that had taken place in Bram’s head. That he had decided to be done with the boy he had crushed on for years, and truly fallen for over the past few months.

And if anyone else at the table knew anything about the Simon-thinking-Bram-was-homophobic thing, there was no sign of it. Things between Bram and Nick had been stilted, but not bad, since their conversation in the locker room on Monday. Bram was pretty certain that the stiffness in their conversations would blow over within a week or two.

He assumed that Nick had probably reported back to Simon about the discussion he’s had with Bram. Or maybe not. Simon hadn’t attempted to talk to him or anything, though there had been a couple of times he was sure that Simon had just been looking at him. But it might have just been in his head.

He didn’t know, and as mentioned, he’d decided to try to not think about it.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t care about Simon Spier anymore. Of course not. Human emotion didn’t work that way.

But after sending Simon the email telling him that they couldn’t go back to how things were before, he just had decided to be done with all of it.

It was the only way he’d get over him. The only way he'll be able to deal with his likely future of seeing Simon with Cal Price all the time. Or someone else, someone else who could just go up to him and talk to him and tell him the truth.

Yeah, his self-pity was starting to exhaust him too.

Hence, he needed to move on.

And he had decided his first step was that he had to get himself to a place where he didn’t feel like he relied on Jacques anymore.

Jacques had encouraged him and inspired him to begin his coming-out process. He’d written him comforting words afterwards. And he would always be grateful.

But he didn’t need him anymore.

He didn’t need him anymore.

And he couldn’t continue to rely on him. This was his own life. This was about him. He had to move forward. He had to keep swimming, even if there was no longer a clear shore in sight.

**

His first step: Garrett.

He felt a little guilty that he hadn’t told Garrett before. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought of it. It was just that Garrett was such a constant, good part of his life. His happy demeanor and jovial attitude toward life were something that Bram had come to rely on. He always knew that, no matter how shitty his day and no matter how much turmoil he was feeling over Simon, he could count on Garrett at the end of the day to send him a ridiculous text or snapchat and put a smile on his face.

And he didn’t want to change that. It’s not that he thought Garrett was a homophobe, but things would inevitably change.

But he had come to point where he just had to be honest. He was so sick of living what felt like a lie.

**

He decided to do it after practice that Thursday. He could get him alone pretty easily, and it would take the pressure off having to hang out with each other for the rest of the day after what was sure to be an intense conversation.

“Hey,” he said to Garrett as he closed his locker and got his car keys out of his backpack. “Can, uh, can I talk to you about something?”

Garrett frowned at him, not at all used to him starting conversations so ambiguously.

“Yeah, bro. What’s up?”

“Can we – can we go somewhere else real quick?” His heart was already beating harder than it normally did.

“Uh, yeah…sure,” Garrett said.

They ended up leaning against Garrett’s car, which was parked at the front of the nearly-deserted parking lot.

“So if this about why you’ve been so emo lately?” Garrett asked.

“I have?”

Garrett laughed. “You’ve been real quiet. Which I’m used to, but, like, I don’t know, it seems like something is bugging you.”

“You’re right,” Bram said. “It’s a long story.”

“Okay.”

“So, the thing is – the thing is – um – I – I’m – my stepmom is pregnant.”

Damn it. Damn it.

“Oh,” Garrett said, surprised. “Um, oh. That must be really fucking weird.”

“Yeah,” Bram said. “It is.”

“I mean,” Garrett said. “Like, it’s cool, I guess. But still, it seems like your parents should be past the point of – ”

“I’m gay,” Bram interrupted him. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. I’m gay. I mean, she _is_ pregnant. But -- but I’m gay.”

“Oh,” Bram said. He looked away from him. “Oh.”

There were a few moments of silence, before Garrett looked back up at him and said, “That’s – I mean – a part of me is surprised, but at the same time, not really.”

“Okay,” Bram said. He didn’t know how to reply to that.

Another beat of silence before Garrett gave him a small smile and said, “Well, at least that shit’s over with.”

Bram laughed, a real laugh that he felt in his stomach. Garrett laughed too.

“So that’s why you’ve been weird lately?” Garrett asked.

“Kind of,” Bram said. “It’s – there’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time,” Garrett said.

So he told him. He told him about the Jacques thing and the Simon thing. Not in a lot of detail, really. That would probably take hours, and it would be even more embarrassing than this already was. But he told him.

And then he also told him about how hard it had been to come out to his mom. He told him how he still hadn’t come out to his dad, and how weird he still felt about him because of the baby thing.

Garrett mostly just listened, but that was all Bram needed him to do.

**

That night, riding on the high of his successful conversation with Garrett, he called his dad.

“Hi,” his dad answered the phone, sounding vaguely concerned. Bram knew that it was because _he_ usually called _Bram_ , not the other way around.

“Hey, Dad,” Bram said.

“What’s up? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Bram said. “I just have to tell you something.”

**

Here is the funny thing: Bram woke up on Friday feeling pretty good, to be honest.

He had done some really hard things yesterday, and he had survived. His life was intact. He had even spent a (slightly) smaller portion of his time yesterday thinking about Simon.

Things were looking up, which is why what happened at lunch was so awful.

There were two in-school performances of the play that day, so Simon had showed up at their table with his stage makeup on. This included eyeliner and apparently, contacts.

The girls all fawned over him – rightfully. Bram tried very hard not to stare at him. But. But.

Well.

That, of course, was not the awful part.

The awful part happened about 5 minutes before lunch was over.

Leah, Anna, and Morgan were talking about whether or not Ms. Dillinger – a history teacher, but not Bram’s – was pregnant.

“We’re being mean,” Anna said. “She’s probably just gained a little weight.”

“I don’t know,” Leah said. “Simon said she’s been out sick like three times in the past month, Right, Simon?”

“Yep,” Simon, who had been silent for most of lunch, said.

“Yeah, I know she has,” Anna said. “Hard to say, I guess.”

“True,” Leah said.

“Ms. Dillinger teaches history, right?” Garrett asked. Bram rolled his eyes. Leave it to him to try to butt into a conversation with Leah like that.

“Yep,” Leah answered.

“Aren’t pregnant ladies only sick in the mornings, though?” Morgan asked.

“I think it can be all day,” Leah said. “It just depends.”

“Ask Greenfeld,” Garrett said, in another clear attempt to be a part of the discussion. “He might know. He has experience with that lately.” Garrett looked at him.

Oh no.

“Are you pregnant, Bram?” Leah asked.

Everyone laughed. Almost everyone.

Oh no.

There was no way out of this.

“Not so much,” Bram faked a smile. “It’s my – ”

“I guess you probably wouldn’t know when she’s sick, actually,” Garrett said. “With her in Savannah.”

No.

No.

Bram didn’t look at Simon, but out of the corner of his eye, Bram saw him make a sudden movement of some sort.

“So is it your mom?” Leah asked.

Before Bram could speak, Simon did. “No,” he said, and Bram had no choice but to look right at him. “His step-mom is. Right, Bram?”

He wished that he could say that he couldn’t read the look on Simon’s face. But he could.

His eyes were wide with clear surprise, his mouth was open, and he was a little flushed. He was holding his spork in midair, as though he had forgotten that he was about to take a bite.

He didn’t just look shocked, though. He looked like someone had just slapped him, like he had just been hurt

The whole table was silent for a moment, confused by Simon’s strange interruption.

“I – ” Bram started. He wanted to get up, to run away, but how could he? There was no way out, not this time. “Simon –”

But Simon’s eyes had narrowed, and the hurt and shock turned into something that could be anger.

“No,” Simon said. “Just…no.”

No what?

Simon stood up suddenly. He picked up his lunch tray and walked to the end of the table, where he banged it on the edge of the trash can to empty it of the remaining food. 

Bram was too shocked to speak.

Simon walked quickly away from the lunch table and out of the cafeteria, only pausing to leave the tray in the used pile by the door.

“What the hell just – ” Leah started, but Bram did not hear the rest of her question, because he got up and ran after Simon.

He had to. It almost wasn’t a conscious choice.

He hadn’t gotten very far, only to the end of the hallway outside the cafeteria, likely going toward the theater.

“Simon!” Bram called, ignoring the people milling around. “Simon – wait!”

Simon paused, and turned around. Bram caught up to him.

He had tears in his eyes. Simon was crying. He had made Simon cry.

“Look,” Bram said quietly, so no one would hear. “Look.”

“Was it all a joke?” Simon asked sharply.

Now, Bram felt like someone had slapped him. “No,” he said. “Of course it wasn’t – ”

“I mean, what the fuck, Bram? What the actual _fuck_ – ”

“Simon – listen –”

“Why the fuck should I? Why should I – why – _why didn’t you tell me?_ You said you liked Leah -- has this been fun for you – has – ”

“No,” Bram repeated. Why wouldn’t he just listen to him? Now Bram could feel tears pricking at his eyes, too. “No, Simon, I – I tried to tell you, but…”

He trailed off. He had already decided never to explain himself, so now, being forced, he had no idea how.

“But?” Simon said.

“But,” Bram said. “But – I – I – I never meant to – ”

He was interrupted by the bell.

“Fuck,” Simon said. “The play. I gotta go.”

“Right,” Bram said. “Right, but…”

Again, no words came.

“Look,” Simon said. “If this has just been one big catfish, can you just tell me right now?”

“It hasn’t,” Bram said.

“Okay, well, do me a favor,” Simon said. “If you’re telling the truth, and you ever fucking cared about me at all, I need you to _not_ be at the play, okay? I can’t just do the thing I’m supposed to do up there, and be thinking about – about…”

This time, Simon trailed off.

“I – okay,” Bram said, even more hurt and confused

“I just need space right now. I have to go,” Simon said. “I’m sure we’ll talk later. You know, if you’ll actually talk to me at all.”

He walked away, leaving Bram in tears in the middle of the hallway.

That had not gone well.

Bram texted Garrett, then went home. Simon wanted space. What else was he supposed to do?

**

None of this was worth it.

That’s what he kept thinking as he walked into his house.

He’d already known it, of course. Had already decided that the Simon drama had all been too much.

Bu still, he knew it on an even deeper level now.

His heart ached. His stomach hurt. And it hadn’t been worth it.

He opened up his computer to send an apology email to Simon. He didn’t know where to start, so he began reading through their emails. Because, again, he was apparently a masochist.

He ended up reading through every last one.

**_We’re supposed to have suck nice weather. Excuse me, dick nice weather._ **

**_…you’re all about the ladies. Me too, Blue. Me too._ **

**_I also like to imagine you fantasizing about sex._ **

**_Or we could just do other things instead of talking. I mean, I’m just saying._ **

**_I think it’s more like the Homo Sapiens Agenda. That’s really the point, right?_ **

**_Maybe next year we can sneak away and spend Christmas far away, where our families can’t find us._ **

**_And I could never hate you. You’re not going to lose me. Just think about it. Okay?_ **

What had it all been for? What had all those emails and all of those texts about clubbing and Powerpoint-planning been for? What had the weirdest, scariest, best few months of his life been for?

Nothing.

Simon was angry with him. And he might still be frustrated with Simon, if he was being honest.

None of this had been worth it.

**

You know what? Fuck that.

Bram was not a person who used that word casually, or at all, really. But a combination of both his recent proximity to Simon and the severity of his feelings at the moment caused him to only be able to think one thing.

Fuck that. Fuck that.

Of course it had been worth it. Or it could be anyway.

He didn't need Simon or Jacques.

But he wanted them both.

First, he opened an email draft. No, that wouldn’t do.

Then, he went to Creeksecrets. But you know what? Too sleazy and anonymous.

Ultimately, he decided on Facebook.

**

At about the same time as Creekwood sophomores and juniors were walking out of the school play, a new Facebook status from Bram Greenfeld went live:

**I’m gay. This is not someone else writing this as a joke (which would not be funny, for the record). This is me, Bram, saying that I am gay.**

**I want to say first, to the person who I’ve hurt: This isn’t about you. I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for me. Because I need to. I am sick of pretending to be someone I am not. I’m not good at doing hard, awkward things, and I’ve put this off for too long. I’m gay. I won’t pretend otherwise anymore. This is me.**

**Now this part is for the person who I’ve hurt: I’m sorry that I was ever anything but completely honest but you. You almost always put yourself completely out there with me, and I wish that I had done better. But I didn’t want to mess up what we had. I was wrong.**

**I wish we had both done things differently, but we didn’t. So we’re here. But I don’t want to stay here. I want there to be more than this for us. I think there really could be, if we tried. I sincerely do.**

**But I do understand if you don’t feel the same way, anymore.**

**You know how to reach me. I’m here, if you want to.**

 

TO BE CONTINUED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk guys, do you think he'll want to??? 
> 
> winky wink.


	6. In Which We End in the Same Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are discussed and wrapped up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you recognized the italic, bolded parts, it's because they're quoted directly from the Kindle version of Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda.

At about the same time as Creekwood sophomores and juniors were walking out of the school play, a new Facebook status from Bram Greenfeld went live:

**I’m gay. This is not someone else writing this as a joke (which would not be funny, for the record). This is me, Bram, saying that I am gay.**

**I want to say first, to the person who I’ve hurt: This isn’t about you. I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for me. Because I need to. I am sick of pretending to be someone I am not. I’m not good at doing hard, awkward things, and I’ve put this off for too long. I’m gay. I won’t pretend otherwise anymore. This is me.**

**Now this part is for the person who I’ve hurt: I’m sorry that I was ever anything but completely honest but you. You almost always put yourself completely out there with me, and I wish that I had done better. But I didn’t want to mess up what we had. I was wrong.**

**I wish we had both done things differently, but we didn’t. So we’re here. But I don’t want to stay here. I want there to be more than this for us. I think there really could be, if we tried. I sincerely do.**

**But I do understand if you don’t feel the same way, anymore.**

**You know how to reach me. I’m here, if you want to.**

 **

Bram’s phone felt like it weighed a hundred pounds in his pocket.

He had posted _that status_ about twenty minutes ago. It was live on the internet. All of his Facebook friends could see it. The whole school was going to see it.

What had he just done? Was it too late to delete it?

Yes. Yes, it really was. And he had done it for a reason, he reminded himself.

He had decided not to check his phone until he hit the half-hour mark, and had turned off his Facebook notifications.

He’d been trying to work on his English homework, but well, you could guess how well that was going.

When his watch indicated that 27 minutes had passed since he’d posted _it,_ he gave in and got out his phone.

Twenty-two people had liked his status so far. He clicked to see who.

A few guys from the soccer team (he felt a wave of relief). Garrett. A couple of people from his middle school in Savannah. Mostly Creekwood people he knew only a little or not very well at all.

Abby Suso.

_Abby Suso._

He stared at her name for several moments. She had seen his status, which meant she had to have told Simon, right? _Right?_

He put his phone away. He would look in another ten minutes.

He gave up at six minutes and checked again.

Now, there were twenty-six likes. The first new name that stood out to him was Nick Eisner.

But he forgot all about that when he saw the last name on the list.

_Simon Spier._

Simon had liked his post.

Simon had liked his post.

Deep breaths.

But he hadn’t commented or anything. Bram opened a new tab on his laptop for Gmail. Nothing there either.

Okay. Deep breaths.

Patience. Simon had been the most recent person to like the post. It could have been literally thirty seconds ago.

Patience. Calm.

His heartbeat paid him no mind.

His stomach, either.

He had put his phone back in his pocket for all of five seconds (resolving to actually wait ten minutes before checking anything this time) when it rang.

It rang.

He picked it up slowly, like it would explode if he reached for it too fast.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” Simon said.

“Hi,” Bram said.

“I, uh, I was gonna text you. But. Um. I feel like what you put on Facebook deserved a little more than that, so…”

“Oh,” Bram said.

There was a beat of silence.

“So, look,” Simon said. “I am…really freaking sorry for how I reacted today at lunch. That wasn’t – I shouldn’t have –”

“It’s fine,” Bram said, though he was not sure that it really was.

“No, it’s not,” Simon said. “I didn’t really let you get a word in. It’s just – I was – I was surprised. Which I guess I shouldn’t have been.”

“I should have told you,” Bram said. “I should have – I wanted to, but…”

“But?” Simon asked.

“But...I don’t really know,” Bram said. He took a deep breath. “I was afraid, I guess. That I wasn’t going to be who you wanted me to be.”

“You’re who I want you to be,” Simon said, and Bram felt his heart twist. The weird feeling in his stomach didn’t go away, but shifted into something different entirely.

“You’re who I want you to be, too,” Bram said.

He heard Simon exhale, and it truly occurred to him for the first time that Simon might have been in doubt of that.

What a concept.

Another moment went by. Simon was probably taking it in, just as Bram was.

“Are you at home now?” Simon asked.

“Yeah.”

“I’m still at school. You want to…meet me somewhere?”

“Where do you have in mind?”

**

They decided to go to a Starbucks, of all places.

Yes, really. Either of their houses would be too awkward, and it was cold outside. It was neutral territory.

Bram got there before Simon. He wavered back and forth over whether it would be overboard, but he ordered him an Oreo cappuccino. Like a loser, he even paid the extra 50 cents for extra Oreo crumbles.

What? It was January. Like he said, it was cold outside.

About thirty seconds after Bram had picked up their drinks, Simon walked in, his face flushed from the cold and maybe something else.

He spotted Bram right away and walked toward the table he had claimed in the corner.

“Hey,” he said, sitting down.

“Hey.”

“Is this for me?” Simon gestured to the drink closest to his side.

“Yeah,” Bram said. “It’s an oreo cappuccino.”

Simon looked up quickly, and his smile was so wide that it made Bram smile too.

“Really?” Simon asked.

“Yes.”

Simon laughed, his head even tilting back.

Making Simon laugh still felt pretty good.

Even better than it did before, actually.

“So…” Simon said. “I meant to say it on the phone, but that Facebook thing was really freaking brave of you.”

“Thanks.”

“No, seriously,” Simon said. “Like…some people are gonna give you some shit for that."

“I know,” Bram said. He’d been trying not to think about it. “But I just needed to.”

“I get that,” Simon said. “I wish…I wish I’d been able to do it like that. On my own terms, you know.”

And they had hit the hard part.

“Why weren’t you – what happened?” Bram asked.

Simon looked at his lap, then looked up and let out a long sigh. “It’s a long story.”

“Oh,” Bram said. “Um, okay.”

Simon was quiet for a moment. Then he inhaled, then exhaled, and started talking.

He told him about leaving his email logged in back in October, and about what Martin Addison (Bram _knew_ there had been something strange going on there; he’d seen Simon with Martin more than was normal) had done as a result of that. He spoke quickly, as though he didn’t really want to be talking about it.

Bram had been right. There had been a rational explanation.

He’d had absolutely no idea what a jerk Martin was.

“…and I know I should have told you. Emailed you, that is, when I saw that post on Creeksecrets. I was just so afraid of scaring you off…”

For a moment, Bram was irritated that Simon had withheld something like that from him because of that.

Just for a moment though.

Because, hypocrisy.

“I’m really sorry that happened, Simon.”

“Thanks. Yeah, me too. But, I mean, hey, there’s nothing he can hold over my head anymore, so…that’s good, I guess?” Simon chuckled a little darkly.

Bram felt an unfamiliar spasm of anger toward Martin Addison. Simon wasn’t supposed to chuckle darkly.

“So…” Bram said, then took a deep breath of his own. “I guess, since you showed me yours…”

He blushed. Why had he put it like that?

But Simon was blushing too now. That had to be a good thing.

“Yeah,” Simon said. “I’m kind of confused because I was…well, I was under the impression that you had a thing for Leah.”

“I know,” Bram said. “That’s not true. I kind of let you think that so you wouldn’t realize that it was really…that it was really you.”

“Oh,” Simon said, his face growing redder. “ _Oh._ ”

“And,” Bram said. “Since we’re being honest, I guess I should say that I’ve been pretty sure that you were the person I was emailing for…a while.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Bram said,

 ** _“I guess I should have shut up about who my English teacher is,”_** Simon said.

**_“Wouldn’t have helped.”_ **

**_“Oh no?”_ **

**_“You sort of talk the way you write,”_** Bram said. “And, when we were working on Mr. Wise’s project together, you would just say certain things that, I don’t know, that made me think that you were him. That you were you.”

“Oh,” Simon said. “Wow. Okay. Full disclosure, here. I…thought you might be the person I was emailing too. I spent a lot of time considering that possibility.”

“You did?” Bram asked, shocked.

“Yeah,” Simon said. “It was sort of the same thing for me. When we were working on the project. Or when you would text me. I would just get the same feeling. And I wanted so badly for it to be true. Only…Blue told me that he was at home handing out candy on Halloween. And you were at Garrett’s party. Plus, the Leah thing, obviously.”

“Oh wow,” Bram closed his eyes. “I only…I was just so afraid to lose you. Both of you. Damn it. I’m sorry. I should have just told you.”

Simon smiled softly. “Well, I know now."

"You wanted it to be true?" Bram said. 

"I really did." And then Simon did something amazing. He scooted his chair toward Bram’s side of the round table. It made an awful screeching sound, but Bram didn’t care.

Simon was fewer than six inches away from him.

“So, did you mean it?” Simon asked softly.

“Mean what?”

“What you wrote on Facebook. About thinking that this could work. Me and you. For real.”

“Yes,” Bram said. “I did.”

 ** _“I want to hold your hand_** **,”** Simon said after a moment.

There was almost no one else in the coffee shop.

**_“So hold it.”_ **

Bram turned his hand over on the table, and Simon took it. He intertwined their fingers.

His heart was in his throat. This couldn’t be real.

They stayed like that for a couple of minutes, not talking much, but just sipping their drinks and basking in the fact that it was happening. It felt a little strange and awkward and new, but not in a bad way.

**

The next day – Saturday -- Bram called Simon and asked if he wanted to eat lunch with him.

“Where?”

“It’s a secret.”

He picked him up at his house, and drove to Publix. He let Simon pick out the music.

It was so weird being in a car with him, but so amazing.

And they went to a nearby park (it was far warmer today) and ate their Oreo mush on a bench, and Bram just did not know how it had all come out so perfect.

“I don’t know what to tell people,” Simons said. “Wait, do you want to tell people? Do you want to be…a thing? **_Like, boyfriend?”_**

“If you do.”

“Um, yeah. I do. I really freaking do. But…”

“But?” Bram asked, nervous again.

“Well, it’s just…here, can I see your cup?”

Bram handed Simon his oreo mush, not sure where he was going with this. Simon took it and set it next to him on the bench, along with his own.

Then he turned to Bram, and put his hands on his shoulders. Bram’s brain went offline.

Oh oh oh oh oh.

Simon’s face came closer, and suddenly their lips were touching. It was a little weird figuring out the noses, but they managed. His hands found their way to Simon’s waist.

Simon’s lips were soft and sure, and they guided his own inexperienced ones.

Why had he spent seventeen years not doing this?

When Simon pulled away after a little while (with a dazed look that surely matched his own), he smiled. And so did Bram.

“So,” Simon asked softly, with a smirk. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing but church,” Bram said instantly. Then his brain turned itself on again. “Oh, wait, actually…”

“Actually what?”

**

FROM: [hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com](mailto:hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com)

TO: [bluegreen118@gmail.com](mailto:bluegreen118@gmail.com)

DATE: January 18 at 12:07 AM

SUBJECT: Seeing as I found out only a few hours ago…

…that today is your FREAKING BIRTHDAY (118, not quite sure why I didn’t crack that genius code), I feel like I owe it to you to celebrate it on the dot. Well, a few minutes after the dot. But I doubt you were born exactly at midnight anyway, so I don’t feel too bad.

I hope church doesn’t last as long as you think that it will. Not that it matters. I’m still taking you to WaHo anyway, because I am fancy like that.

And you know how you told me not to get you a gift because I only just found out a few hours ago? You know I’m not going to listen to that, right? So we’re on the same page.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! See you very soon.

Love,

Simon

 

FROM: [bluegreen118@gmail.com](mailto:bluegreen118@gmail.com)

TO: [hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com](mailto:hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com)

DATE: January 18 at 7:05 AM

SUBJECT: You don’t have to get me anything

Seriously. You don’t.

Church probably won’t be over for quite a while – I wasn’t kidding. But I will be at WaHo with you the moment it’s over. Well, not literally. You know what I mean.

I am glad that we figured out all of this out before today. It would really suck not to be able to get to spend at least part of my birthday with you.

See you soon.

Love,

 ~~Blue~~ Bram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Val and Julie (who of course inspired what Bram orders for Simon) for all of their help and commentary and nerve-calming on this little thing. Appreciate it so very much.

**Author's Note:**

> [Come say hi on Tumblr!](http://paigey-waigey.tumblr.com)


End file.
